Of Forts, Books, and Forts Made of Books
by MaybeYou'llGetIt.MaybeYouWon't
Summary: In which Annabeth is a bookworm, and forts stand tall.


**So, I'm not dead. That's good news.**

 **Although, I am awful. Sorry about that.**

 **Disclaimer: I'm not 100% sure, but I think I've said this before. I don't own PJO/HoO, or any of the affiliated characters.**

She giggled, and her father picked her up.

"What did you do this time?" He asked, smiling at her and laughing when she grinned mischeviously. She dragged him by the hand to their makeshift library—really, it was just a spare bedroom with books along one wall, floor to ceiling, and a few bean bags, but it was Annabeth's favourite place in the world—and presented her creation to her father with the air of an artist revealing his newest painting.

She had emptied the bookshelf of all stories except her favourites, which lined the bottom shelf. The rest were piled on top of each other against the wall opposite the shelf. A large blanket made a canopy over the space in between. She had tucked the edges behind the shelf—probably by standing on the shelves (something she wasn't to do, but the fort was brilliant, so Frederick didn't mind much)—and underneath a few books. All in all, quite inventive for a not yet five year old.

"Daddy! Do you like my fort?" Annabeth asked. She looked up at her father shyly, but he could tell she was proud of it.

"It's wonderful, Beth." Frederick smiled at his blonde-haired daughter, who smiled back with a toothy grin.

"Will you read to me inside it?" Annabeth asked with perfect articulation for someone not even in school yet. She had always been so like her mother.

"Of course. Which book?"

" _A Tale of Two Cities_ , please!" She dove under the blanket and grabbed it off the shelf. It was a large book for someone of that size, but nevertheless she waved in front of her father and he grudgingly obliged, sliding under the canopy with his braniac daughter, who sat on his lap attentively throughout the first seven chapters of her favourite story.

It was years later. It was time for Frederick and Helen to formally meet Percy Jackson.

They had met in passing. There was the incident with Mt. Tampalis and the exploded car and the celestial bronze bullets in the biplane, but never had an actual conversation occured between Annabeth's parents and boyfriend.

It had been planned for months, and Percy had been putting off thinking about it—per usual—until the last minute. When he finally decided what he was going to wear (jeans and a shirt _without_ burn holes or tears in it), there was still a problem—Helen remembered at the last minute that she had a crucial business meeting. After an argument between Annabeth and her stepmom, Helen angrily drove to the meeting and Frederick was left to fend for himself in a social situation.

Halfway through an awkward meal, Annabeth, still upset about how her stepmother went off to a meeting instead of giving any attention to thing important to her stepdaughter, stormed out. Percy looked all over the house for her, until he found her in a fort made of books in the library.

"Knock knock," Percy tapped on the wall, and crouched down so that he could see under the blanket. "Can I come in?"

Annabeth, eyes red, nodded slowly. Percy crawled over to her at sat down.

"Helen went off to work and my dad is completely useless and _ugh,"_ Annabeth rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry about this. I shouldn't be crying—this—this is silly."

"No, it's not, actually," Percy took Annabeth's hands in his own. "She should be paying attention to what you need. And your dad's who he is. You have every reason to be upset."

Annabeth slumped over onto his shoulder and he put an arm around her. Suddenly, she looked up at her boyfriend with her intense gray eyes.

"Will you read to me?" She asked, already moving to grab _A Tale of Two Cities_ off of the shelf. Percy chuckled and moved her onto his lap, opening the book when she gave it to him.

Percy turned out the lights in the hallway of their house, and went to turn off the ones in the library when he stopped. There were books piled up, and a blanket stretched across the room. Reminiscent of so many years ago.

Two figures lay asleep on the ground curled up against each other.

The first was Annabeth, her blonde hair spilling around her. It was streaked with gray, but he had refused to let her dye it. She was beautiful, sleep taking the lines from her face, a small smile playing across her lips.

The second was Zoë, their thirteen year old. She was just like her mother in so many ways, with her bookish nature and wicked sharp intelligence, but Percy liked to think her rebelliousness came from him. Her hair was too short too do any 'spilling', but her fringe was exhibiting some serious bedhead, making it almost look as though she had a quiff. A book lay abandoned on the floor beside them, its spine old and cracked, but still holding up. Percy bent over and picked it up—the cover read: _A Tale of Two Cities_. He smiled to himself.

The heroes sat with their backs against the bookshelf, leaning on each other. A book stretched across their laps, weathered and worn from years of love. Their hands were linked and the woman rested her head on the man's shoulder.

Grayed blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, and faded black hung around his ears. It had been so long.

Still intense gray eyes scanned the page quickly, taking in every memorised word. Eyes like the sea looked over it slower, taking their time. The gray watched the green when they had finished.

The man and the woman turned the page, together.

The pages were always turned together.

Breaths were taken, together.

Hearts beat, together.

Even after the long years.

No one watched them. No children chased after grandchildren. There were no grandchildren to chase. Zoë had liveD up to her namesake and joined the hunt. Many years prior, Luke had gone on a quest of his own. They hadn't heard from him since.

Despite the troubles and the heartbreak, the heroes who had always done everything together continued.

A blanket stretched over their head, held up on all sides by stacks of books. A permanent structure in their home. Traditions continued, life continued. You couldn't waste away waiting for someone who'd never come back. They'd learned that lesson too many times.

He was too old and frail for her to sit on his lap as of olden days. He would have let her despite that, if she had wanted, but she could never hurt him. He was her and she was he, as it always had been.

Life was long. The screams could still be heard at night. Their children had never asked why. Maybe they had found out for themselves by now. Maybe they were the ones screaming when the nightmares claimed them.

The screams had always been there. That wasn't new. Not much was new, but it was all still different. They stayed in New Rome, in house designed by Annabeth. No monsters bothered them here. A quiet life. Growing old together. Like they'd always dreamed.

And that was enough.


End file.
